“It better be my wife,” I say, shooting her a grin.
London blushes and shakes her head.
“Alright, on your mark, get set, go!”
I take off, sprinting around the yard. My parents’ yard is huge. Nearly an acre, and by the time I’ve completed one lap, I have to pee. But I continue because I’m not about to lose to my brothers.
We finish around the same time and then drop into burpees at the edge of the pool. I hate burpees. My heart is beating at a pace it shouldn’t considering my age. Perhaps I should stop taste-testing so many of London’s desserts. I pause at ten and wait for the world to stop spinning. My parents and grandma have disappeared. That, or I’m losing consciousness.
Cool water will help. I take comfort in the fact that everyone else is struggling just as much as I am. By the time I finish, I slide like a slug into the water. Screw swimming; I’m walking.
The girls have left now as well. They better be getting suits on to join us. If I don’t see my wife in a skimpy bikini, I’m going to be very upset.
The pool isn’t a full lap pool, so we are each done in no time. I lean against the wall farthest away from the house.
“That was brutal,” I mutter.
“I can’t feel my butt,” Michael moans, grabbing onto the wall next to me.
“Let’s pray it’s over,” Trent says.
“I think I’m getting rope burn from this duct tape,” Grant says, his first complaint of the day.
Something moves around my waist. I look down to see scraps of pink fabric circling the water around me. Uh oh.
“Hey, guys?” I say.
“Huh?”
“Are your speedos disappearing?”
Michael screams. Like a little girl, I might add. And Trent and Grant curse. Good thing all the girls went inside.
Not quite the surprise I had in mind. I’ll definitely have to get London back for this, and I’m very much looking forward to it.
“Sean, get out and get us a towel,” Michael says.
“Why do I have to?”
“Because you’re the most…”
“Yes?” I’d like to know how he plans to end this.
“Sean!”
I turn to the house where London has just let out an unearthly scream. She’s waddling out the back door, hand over her eyes.
What is she doing? She’s going to fall.
“London! Stop!” I jump out of the pool, grab a towel, and sprint for her. All of it was made harder to do by the watermelon strapped to me. Apparently, my pregnant wife putting herself in danger is all I need to get out of an awkward skinny-dipping session. “What’s wrong?”
Her hand is shaking, and I steady it in mine. “My water broke.”
For about ten seconds I stand there, unsure what to do. Then my face bursts into a grin. She’s coming. Our baby girl is coming, and not that it matters, but I totally won the bet.
“Are you okay? You’re not going to pass out right?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet. But I make no promises for the hospital.”
